They Didn't Forget
by Areazel
Summary: Nehh, just a birthday fic for Ivan. Not much birthday themed. Doesn't make much sense either, not that my writing ever does. Drabble. Insanity. Just read and review please ONESHOT


The cold wind smashed itself against the windows, the glass rattling as they struggled to keep out the angry winds. The large house stood sturdy and strong, as it had for many years, the unlit windows haunting, shadows of the past beckoning, teasing as they darted from room to room. The halls stood unlit and chilled. The memories stood stagnant in the unlived in passages, old portraits glowering at the long forgotten rugs. There had always been something a bit off here; there had always been a sort of presence. The feeling something more knowledgeable, something more powerful was watching, laughing at your mistakes. The darkness of the mansion seemed to be constantly pressing in, constantly trying to suffocate the flickers of life that resided in those few lit rooms.

There was a fire roaring with life in a single room, the flickering snapping flames lighting the room. The fierce orange light reflected off pale skin, violet eyes were focused upon the dancing flames. A lopsided smile upon the males face, a nearly empty bottle of vodka in his large hand. Hanging carelessly from his grasp, the clear liquid bending the fires light, the cool bottle in strong contrast to the heat radiating form the fireplace.

Ivan Braginski was seated in front of his fire, his vodka in hand, his lopsided smile was on his face, as it always was. The male let his gaze wander to the window, where the snow swirled angrily, he was vaguely reminded of the dead and unburied spirits that had accumulated over the years, angry, screeching. His mind, twisted by the consumption of alcohol, told him that if he looked hard enough, he could see the spirits' fingers clawing at his window. A small giggle pulled form his throat, wouldn't that be nice? To have the spirits come in? Maybe they'd care, though the bits of logic he still possessed told him that they spirits hated him, they wouldn't care. No one cared, dead nor alive.

His grip on the bottle tightened, brows furrowed into a frown. Why didn't anyone care? Why didn't anyone notice?! His fingers dug into the cushions of his chair, his jaw was set as he glared at the fire, eyes spiteful. Oh they would suffer, they would pay for what they--

Maybe they did remember…Maybe that was it. His expression lightened some, a twisted worn laugh coming from him; maybe General Winter had taken away all his friends' good wishes. That was it, he relaxed a bit, it was General Winters fault. He sat there, a moment, repeating this. Maybe if he repeated it, his words would become the truth. He brought the bottle of vodka to his lips.

"They didn't forget…"

The words fell repetitively from his lips, only stopped by the swallowing of the burning liquid. The vodka seared down his throat as he stared at the mantle, frowning, mind in a haze.

"They didn't forget…"

He repeated. They couldn't have forgotten. They were his friends...Right? And you didn't just forget your friends' birthdays. His expression hardened, they knew what would happen if they forgot. They knew they would suffer, and who wanted to suffer?

"….they didn't forget…"

He whispered to himself, cool bottle touching his lips, before he tilted his head back, letting the vicious drink flow down his throat. He brought his other hand up, wiping his lips dry. He stared at the fire, violet eyes empty, lips pressed into a thin line.

He tilted his head, eyes unfocused as he stared at the snapping flames. He ignored the whistling of the wind, he ignored the nearly full moon that lit the crisp snow. His mind was blank, except for one thought, one horrible thought, what if they had forgotten him. What if no one cared he was living, his precious life, unbalanced mind, was in the hands of General Winter. What if one day he left the house, and never returned? What if Ihe/i became one of those unburied souls. Lifeless body lost forever under the blanket of snow.

There was a smash, he jerked. He slowly looked to his side, where the vodka bottle lay smashed against the ground. He hadn't noticed it fall, he mumbled to himself as he slowly moved and squat next to the broken glass. He picked it up piece by piece, ignoring how each piece bit into his skin. He hummed to himself, eyes unfocused as he mechanically picked up the shards.

He blinked some as he found he was done cleaning up, and he dropped the shards into the trash bin, at the other side of the room. The Russian looked around the room, took in the fires angry glow, the silence that accompanied it. He took a stumbling step back, he was alone.

The shadows that the flames created were no longer simple shadows, the danced. They taunted. The lithe figures were everywhere, he trembled. He knew he should never let the fear take hold, for if he did only insanity would follow.

Too late now.

He could see their twisted faces laughing at him, He was alone, they had forgotten him, they weren't his 'friends', and he was a fool to think they were. The shadows laughed, the memories he had locked away flowing, giving the haunting figures life.

He sunk down against the wall, large hands covering his ears, no fair. This wasn't fair, there were so many of them. So many memories he wished he could forget. So many thoughts, no, too many thoughts. His imagination twisting memories and dreams, too many for one to take. Too many for him to understand, to comprehend.

Too much.

The laughing.

The taunting.

The blood.

The hurt.

The screams.

His own twisted laughter.

Too much.

He screamed.


End file.
